


Celestial Navigation

by EarlGreyForMe



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28321554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlGreyForMe/pseuds/EarlGreyForMe
Summary: While Strike goes in search of the perfect Christmas gift for his best mate, Robin finds herself a bit sad.Set post-Troubled Blood.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	Celestial Navigation

**Author's Note:**

> Although this piece is not set in 2020, this is for everyone having a tough or unusual Christmas in 2020. 
> 
> Wrote this in one shot. Please forgive any errors/misspellings. Thanks.

“I have the right to be worried,” Robin declaimed. “You’ve just turned down an offer to go to the pub. Clearly something is rotten in the street of Denmark.” 

Strike shook his head and groaned in protest at her play on words but was unsuccessful in suppressing a grin. Why did she have to be so clever, so observant, and so stunning? It was unfair. “I just have something I have to do,” he mumbled. He should have sounded much more convincing, he knew that, but his will had been nearly completely eroded away by the dark red shade she’d just applied to her lips. He had gone stock still when he saw it. She looked like a movie star from the 40’s and he was ... well, he was absolutely speechless for a moment. It was just long enough for him to stumble over his words after she’d asked if he was ready to go to The Tottenham. 

“Oh. Er ... okay.” Now it was Robin’s turn to be speechless. She and Strike had headed to the pub every Friday night for the past three months. Somehow their work schedules had just worked out that way and it had become such a nice way to end the week. Robin hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to it until, as of a moment ago, he had declined. She did her best to hide her disappointment, smiled, and when he offered nothing more, said “Night, then,” and made a beeline for the door. Well, she thought dejectedly as she headed down the steps, I guess this wasn’t really a night for statement lips. 

Strike looked down to find his hands physically gripping his desk with all his might. 

Strike had a two-handed, white-knuckled grip on his desk. It was the only thing keeping him from running after those sweet eyes that had looked so disappointed and those scarlet lips that needed to be ... well, that and the fact that the ‘thing’ he needed to do was for her. 

Around his birthday, he noticed he hadn’t seen her dragonfly charm in a while. This seemed most odd as she’d been wearing it nearly every day for almost two years. When asked, she crumpled a bit and admitted, much to her dismay, that it had gotten lost somewhere between tailing Saville Row and Backpack Guy a few weeks back. She’d hoped it would turn up ... but it hadn’t yet. It was neither an heirloom nor exorbitantly expensive but it was precious to her and she was deeply saddened by its absence. 

Strike saw her pain and almost told her to expense it and get another, feeling that the loss was due to work and that it was only right that work replace it. However he caught himself just in time. He remembered that Christmas was just around the corner and that this would make a perfect gift. 

He’d gone to a jeweler Ilsa recommended and was a bit overwhelmed by their selection. There wasn’t much in store but they could order almost anything; the online catalog was positively immense. He’d initially thought to get a replacement dragonfly but then thought what if the original does turn up in a week or two? What’s she going to do with two of the same pendants? No, that would not be wise. Best to get something different. Something that says “I’m sorry you lost your necklace,” and not “I love you and can’t imagine my life without you”. Not that. Definitely not that. 

But what to choose? A little gold robin? There were several of those to choose from but it seemed a little too on the nose to get a robin for Robin. Cute to write on a card, less cute as a necklace. So what then? There were also an alarming number of donkey charms, some strangely realistic while others were a bit more abstract and elegant looking, but that didn’t seem right either. A sunflower charm caught his eye, it was next to a pendant shaped like a sun with a little, sweet smile in the center. Robin was his sun and her smile was just as warm but no. That would not do. I can’t tell her she’s my sun. I’ll sound like an idiot. 

Ok. Think. Dragonflies are supposed to be lucky so ... maybe a horseshoe? Or a four-leaf clover? Oh, good grief. This was getting worse and worse. Who knew there were eight billion charms from which to choose? How on earth is a person supposed to choose? Just as he was about to lose his mind and storm out of the store, a kindly older woman came to offer her advice. “There are so many lovely choices. It makes it almost impossible to choose,” she said with a gentle ease. “Sometimes less really is more,” she continued, her tone comforting and almost familiar. 

“Do you have any suggestions?” Strike was near his wits’ end. He was just desperate enough to ask a stranger for help. “Well,” she began, “Is a holiday gift?”

Strike started to say “Christmas gift for my partner,” and then stopped because that wasn’t quite right. If he wanted this stranger to understand, he’d have to do better than that. “It’s for my best mate. She had a dragonfly charm she loved but recently lost it. I don’t want to get her another one exactly the same, in case the first one is found, but I thought I could get her something else — the question is what?” 

The older woman nodded her head, seeing the dilemma. “Well, process of elimination is always a good place to start. Does she prefer gold or silver? What was the dragonfly?” 

“That was gold — and it was on a gold chain which was short. The charm hung just below the hollow of her throat.” 

“A man who pays attention to detail. Now that is something you don’t find everyday,” she replied with a warm smile on her face. Strike blushed just a little and the woman noted it but made no mention of it. “Alright. Gold. Short chain. I assume this means you want to get a necklace as well as the charm?” Strike nodded. “Okay. Do you know her birthday? You could go the safe route and get a pendant with her birthstone?” 

“Her birthday was in October and her parents had the same idea. Gave her a lovely opal pendant,” Strike replied. “So, unfortunately, I think birthstone is out.” 

“No worries. That still leaves several thousand options,” she said with a chuckle. “Do you see these little flat discs? My daughter recently got one and had it engraved with her initial. It is simple but personalized. Classic but also contemporary. What do you think of that?”

Strike paused. He liked that the style was simple and classic but he worried about the initial. This might be over-worrying but with all of the undercover moments in a private investigator’s life, it seemed unwise to walk around with a letter potentially proclaiming the start of her name. “I like it but I don’t know if she is an ‘first initial’ kind of person.” Strike’s face began to contort and twist in all sorts of uncomfortable ways. This had seemed like such a good idea at first. Why was shopping always so bloody difficult?

Registering his frustration, knowing she needed to move fast before he blew a gasket, she offered this suggestion. “How about the same type of disc but with a tiny stone? Do you see the ones to the right? They have little stones in them, some off-center, some right in the center of the charm. There are rubies and sapphires and emeralds — but might I suggest a diamond, if for no other reason than it is colorless and therefore will go with anything she wears.” She cast a sly, conspiratorial look in his direction and said “It’s a small detail but it’s something a woman notices when she’s putting together an outfit,” she finished with a wink. 

As she spoke, the light caught a pendant in the top row of the display. It was a small, flat gold disc - like the others she had pointed out - but this one had a tiny colorless stone, just a chip really, set in the center. What set this one apart was engraving around the stone. It looked like the points of a compass. It enhanced the stone, adding an extra bit of glimmer, while remaining simple and classic. Strike pointed to it and asked “What do you think of that?” 

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said. “And the points around the stone? Well, that’s what a best friend does, right? Points us in the right direction?” She smiled with such a knowing look. Cormoran thought she could see right through him but, somehow, he didn’t seem to mind. Not even a little bit. 

A salesperson was flagged down, the pendant was inspected and not found wanting, and a suitable chain was selected to accompany it. Once the charm was selected, everything else fell into place with such ease. Strike could not believe his luck. The total may have been a bit more than he initially thought of paying but it wasn’t an exorbitant amount and he did get a chain as well as a pendant and, well, this was for his Robin. She was worth it, whatever the cost. 

In the midst of paying and gift wrapping, a phone chimed. The woman, his gift-giving savior, placed a hand on his arm and said “Please excuse me but I have to run. One of my grandchildren has just texted and is anxiously awaiting hot chocolate,” she smiled. “I hope your friend likes her gift. It is a beautiful necklace — but the thoughtfulness behind it is the real gift. She’s a lucky girl.”

Strike felt a catch in his throat and his eyes prickle. “I’m the lucky one,” he said. He caught himself before any tears spilled over, surprised at his reaction to the woman’s kind words. “I’m Cormoran, by the way.”

“Lovely to meet you, Cormoran. My name is —,” and her phone chimed again and then again. “My apologies. Grandchildren wait for no one,” she said with a smile. “Happy Christmas to you and yours.” 

“Thank you,” he started as she walked away. He never got her name. 

~~~~~~~

Quite pleased with the turn of events on his shopping trip but still thinking of his Robin and her red lips, Strike could not seem to decide where to go next. Home would be the logical choice but it wasn’t all that late. He missed having his usual Friday night (not a date, definitely not a date) with Robin. He figured it would be impractical to ask her to come to The Tottenham now but he thought he could ask if she’d like to grab a drink at her local? 

Robin saw her phone light up, saw his name appear, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to read the text. She wasn’t mad at him (they weren’t in primary school) but she felt a bit, maybe, cautious. She’d fallen into their Friday routine so easily, so completely, that she felt at a loss without it — and she was surprised at how keenly she felt that loss. She had no reason to feel that way. He wasn’t hers. She had no ownership rights to Cormoran Strike but that didn’t stop a corner of her heart from aching just a little bit. That feeling, that emptiness, caught her off guard. She was in the process of recalibrating her head (and her heart) and she needed a little bit longer before she could reply. 

Strike went to her apartment, regardless of the fact she didn’t reply to his three messages, and found Max and Wolfgang but no Robin. He was slightly concerned by this but reminded himself that she is perfectly free to do whatever she pleases when she’s not working. He also reminded himself that she had already asked him out this evening and he turned her down. Idiot. Even if he turned her down for a very good reason. Idiot. Did he see those lips? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. 

There was nothing to do but head home. His leg had been bothering him so he splurged on a cab and spent the entire ride thinking of Robin. Where she was, what she was doing. He just wanted to be near her but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe she’s with some girlfriends? Maybe they went to a club and some guy asked her to dance. Maybe she’s having a fantastic time. Maybe ... this was a dangerous road to go down. No good could come of this. No good whatsoever. 

Suddenly, he didn’t want the solitude of his flat. He wanted some company, just for a bit. In his adult life he had learned to be alone but not lonely. They were in fact two very different things but tonight, right now, loneliness seemed to be sitting right beside him. He asked the driver to drop him at the corner and he headed to the pub in which he should have spent his evening. 

Entering The Tottenham, he spotted her red gold hair instantly amongst the crowd. He looked around but didn’t see anyone he recognized with her. No Vanessa, no Ilsa, no Nick. He tried to hang back for a second, to surveil the surveyor, to see if she was in fact with a guy. But no. She seemed to be sitting by herself, amongst the throng but not really a part of it. She had a notebook out and was writing something. She looked like she was in another world. Her lips were not the same intense shade as they were earlier this evening. Her lips, really her entire face, looked a bit pale. Something was not right. 

He got a pint and white wine, and made his way over to her. “Fancy meting you here,” he said with a warm smile. She didn’t believe her ears, thought for a moment that she had conjured him out of thin air. Politely he asked, “This seat taken?” 

Robin blinked a few times, decided she was awake and wasn’t hallucinating. Remembered that she’d had less than two glasses of wine. It was on a empty stomach but still. She wasn’t drunk enough to imagine Strike here ... so he must really be here. “Hi,” she said. No more, no less. 

“Did your phone die on you?”

“What?”

“Did your phone run out of battery? I was trying to reach you earlier.” 

She was just drunk enough to tell the truth. And so she did. “No. I just ... I just needed a little quiet time.” 

“Friday night at the pub’s a good place for quiet,” he smiled, seeing as they could barely hear one another. “Have you eaten,” he asked? She shook her head. “Want something here?” She shrugged her shoulders. She really wasn’t herself. Strike wanted so much just to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. It might not have been the most logical move but she looked like ... well, she wasn’t crying, she wasn’t angry, she wasn’t having a panic attack. She just looked ... she looked a bit sad. 

“Right,” he said. “Coat. Come on.” He downed his pint, stood up and waited for her to follow suit. She didn’t have the wherewithal to object or even to question. She was busy finishing tying up the bandage around the splintered parts of her heart. She had to wrap it up quickly before anyone, including herself, noticed. She didn’t have the bandwidth to converse with her partner. 

He hit the “reorder” option on the app for Chinese food before they exited the pub. That would likely be the fastest and so they made their way, quietly, in that direction. He wondered whether he should say anything or wait until they got back to the office. The office? Or his flat? This is assuming she wants to be in either place. She needs food. I’ll make sure she eats and then figure it out from there. 

It was only a minute’s wait for the food and then they headed back to the office. He wasn’t sure but felt that would be more ... neutral? He told her to have a seat, he’d get her a plate. He knew what she liked and didn’t like from this particular restaurant. She didn’t protest. She just sat down at her old desk in the outer office, assuming Strike would take the couch. 

He placed her food on the desk along with a glass of water. He’d asked if she wanted soda but she shook her head again. They both started to eat. He thought she needed food before anything else. They often sat in companionable silence but this was something else, it had a different weight. “Mind if I turn on the radio?” He asked the question softly, casually. She shrugged and he took that as a yes. The station Pat favored which played upbeat oldies during the day was now focused on slower, more mellow tunes. It was soothing without being sleep-inducing or overly romantic 

Once half of her plate was gone, he asked gently “What happened between when I last saw you in this office and now?” She shrugged. She had a bit more energy thanks to the food but she didn’t know what to say to him exactly. How do you say: I’ve gotten attached to you, and I know you don’t feel the same, and now I have to figure out how not to want to be with you. I have to be with you for work - so I have to figure out how to be ok with that - and not allow myself to want to be with you outside work. Does that make any sense? No. But that’s where we are. That’s where I am. And I can’t ... I forgot the pain. I forgot that it can hurt like this. I don’t want to feel like this. 

How on earth can she say that? She can’t. So she take a play from the magician’s handbook and tries to redirect. “Did you take care of whatever you needed to do earlier?” 

“Yes,” he whispered with a smile. And then something snapped or started or ended inside him. He couldn’t sit there a moment longer. He stood and slowly moved to set his plate down on the kitchenette counter. He turned and slowly moved toward her. “Could you stand up, please,” he asked her gently. His tone was unexpected and she obliged. He gently pulled her into his arms. He didn’t bend down to embrace her as he had done several times before. Rather, he stood tall and held her against his chest. His arms didn’t crush her, they held her gently but firmly in place. 

She didn’t know how to respond. She tried to remain neutral, this was just a friend giving another friend a hug. She started to pull away and he gently, politely, kindly asked for just a minute more please. She couldn’t say no. She didn’t want to anyway. And he started to delicately stroke the back of her head. Like he was trying to coax the pain out of her. Pain he couldn’t possibly be aware of or understand. 

She gave in. She let him. 

He felt the shift in her though she said nothing. Her body relaxed against his, fractionally but still; it was something. He held her and stroked her hair for a little longer and then said “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to join you at the pub after work. I had a very important errand to run. I had to find a Christmas present for my best mate.” Robin tried not to move but a single tear escaped her eye. “I’m not always the best when it comes to presents. I’d say I either do phenomenally or horrifically, would you agree?” She shook with laughter but made no noise. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he continued, still holding her, still stroking her hair. 

“Well, I had an idea but it started to fall apart spectacularly, kind of like when Ilsa suggested getting you perfume last Christmas, and I was seconds away from bolting out of the store and then this woman kind of appeared out of nowhere and ... I don’t know. She was probably close to Aunt Joan in age and she seemed to know exactly what to say. And ... well I guess I was wondering if you’d like your present now?” Robin pulled back to look at him and nodded. He couldn’t stop himself from wiping away her single tear before letting her go and walking over to the coatrack. 

Without thinking, she followed him — even though he only walked a few steps away. A tiny part of her brain realized this was not a logical move and covered by turning toward the couch. She sat down there and waited for him to finish pulling things out and tucking other things back in to his pockets. Eventually he came and sat next to her, placing a long, rectangular box in her hands. 

It was clearly a box for jewelry. She looked at it and then up at him, shaken out of her stupor by this left turn of events. She almost managed to compose speech before he nudged her to open it. 

As she started to open the box, he started to explain. “I wanted to get something to make up for the loss of your dragonfly - not to replace it because there’s always a chance it could turn up one day - but just something new. I had no idea that there were roughly one billion different charms out there from which to choose. The woman in the store said this style, a round disc, is something that’s popular. She said getting an initial engraved on it was common but I didn’t know if you’d want to worry about that complicating cover names while undercover. And then I saw this and ... well, a dragonfly is supposed to bring good luck but it also symbolizes change, specifically personal growth. The engraving on this pendant looks like the points of a compass. At first, I thought that it would help you to find your way — and then I realized that’s what you’ve done for me. That’s what you are to me: You’re my North Star.”

Robin’s jaw wouldn’t close. She was absolutely stunned. The necklace was perfect, it was beyond perfect. It was even better than anything she would have picked out herself. But it was more than that. He’d just called her his anchor in the the Northern sky, the beacon which glows the brightest and leads the way home. He couldn’t have meant that, could he? 

He went on to say “While the North Star is, like the dragonfly, associated with luck, it also symbolizes hope and the way home.”

Tears fell down Robin’s face. She turned to look at him and he wasn’t sure whether this was a good reaction or a bad one. “I left here earlier this evening with a funny hollow in my chest. I walked outside and found my feet heading to the pub. I got wine and sat and tried to wrap my head around this feeling. I haven’t felt it in so long, I’d almost forgot. With Matthew there was good and bad, obviously, but the bad was always tainted with darker, heavier colors. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel pain that’s only from good, or mostly good. Do you know what I mean?”

“I’m not sure if I do — but I want to. Can you tell me more?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it clearly tonight but I can say this: I like Fridays at the pub with you.”

“Is that what brought this on, a missed pub night?” He was trying to make her laugh but he posed the question so softly, so gently. 

She responded calmly and seriously. No tears. Just the truth. “I lost my North Star. I couldn’t see the way home. It left me a bit ... rattled.” 

Strike looked into her eyes. He didn’t trust his ears, couldn’t be sure of what she’d just said but her eyes, her eyes spoke volumes. They were warm and welcoming and tender and bright. They were everything he once thought love should be, everything he hoped it would one day be. 

She placed her hand in his and said “I’ll be your North Star if you’ll promise to be mine?” 

He looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. Before he could say anything, she pulled his hand in toward herself, and leaned forward to kiss him. He met her lips halfway and couldn’t believe what was happening. Their kisses were tender, the day’s earlier pain still working it’s way out of their tissues. The gentle ministrations acted as a healing balm. 

She pulled back and reached up to touch his face. She gazed upon him with such tenderness, such adoration, such love. He felt shaken to his core and, at the same time, so firmly rooted on solid ground. His heart, like so many others who had lived with pain and loss for far too long, grew (at least) three sizes that day. 

“Merry Christmas, Robin.”

“Merry Christmas, Strike.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to post this on December 25 as a small expression of my gratitude for all you wonderful Strellacott fanfic writers out there. You have helped me make it through this freakin’ insane year. I cannot thank you enough. ❤️


End file.
